


Never Back Down

by Myxini



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Belly Rubs, F/M, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:16:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myxini/pseuds/Myxini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newest member of the Companions challenges Vilkas to an eating contest. Turns out he’s bitten off a little more than he can chew. </p><p>There’s some plot to this but mostly it’s shameless kink fic, hooray!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Back Down

Vilkas hadn’t seen the main hall of Jorrvaskr so empty in years.

Kodlak had been gone two days. He had set out for some crypt in Haafingar to follow a tip on a possible cure, and taken Farkas with him. Skjor had sent most of the whelps out on a training mission, before leaving to hunt with Aela. They’d invited Vilkas along, but he’d reminded them of his promise to Kodlak.

“Ah yes, the noble abstinent werewolves of Jorrvaskr,” Aela had snorted. “If you prefer lounging by the fireside to burying your claws into warm prey, who am I to stop you?” 

He was glad that she couldn’t see him now, rereading his dog-eared copy of _Song of Hrormir_ by torchlight. It wasn’t exactly an auspicious way to spend an evening. But even warriors need rest, and he was content to let himself be lulled by tales of the valiant souls who’d come before….

“What’re you reading?”

Vilkas looked up, startled. It was Maryn.

“Shor’s bones, new blood!” he said, snapping the book shut. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I tread lightly.” She grinned and slid into the chair beside him. “So what is it? Is it good?”

It had been less than two weeks since Maryn had joined up. Vilkas had almost laughed when Kodlak suggested he put her skills to the test. She was small and lightly-built, even for a Dunmer, and he’d been certain that a single blow from his sword would knock her flat. But she had held her own. Even managed to knock his blade in a way that had left his wrist smarting for days, which was no small feat.

“It’s an epic,” he said, holding the book out to her. “About a great warrior. You can borrow it, if you like.”

“Oh, no thanks. I don’t read much.”

“No? You should try it. You might learn a thing or two.” He began to thumb the pages, searching for his lost place. “Shouldn’t you be out with the others?”

“Skjor said the mission was for inducted members only.” She sighed. “I wish he’d give me a chance to prove myself!”

“Patience, you only just got here. There’ll be a chance soon enough.”

“I know, I know. I just hate being stuck in boring old Whiterun with nothing to do.” She stared out across the empty mead hall. Then suddenly, she brightened. “Hey, have you eaten?”

“Hmm?” Vilkas glanced up from his book again. “Yes, about an hour ago.”

“I was just thinking, there’s still so much food on the tables and nobody around to eat it.”

“Quite a waste, yes. I told Tilma everyone would be out tonight, but she insisted on setting out just as much, Divines bless her.”

“I bet we could put it to good use. What do you say to an eating contest?”

“An eating contest?” Vilkas laughed aloud. “You think you can out-eat _me?_ I’m twice your size!”

 _And a werewolf,_ he added silently. A lifetime of gorging in his beast form had done a lot to strengthen his human stomach. After all, you couldn’t let your belly keep you from continuing the fight once you reverted from wolf back to man, no matter how uncomfortably tight with enemy flesh it might be.

“Size is no good measure of appetite.” Maryn’s red eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “Besides, you’ve had dinner and I haven’t, so you’ve got a handicap of sorts. What do you say? It’ll be fun!”

It _did_ sound fun, Vilkas had to admit. Like something that he and Farkas might have done as little knee-biters. And Maryn’s enthusiasm was infectious. It was a silly idea, but silliness was a precious commodity in these dark times.

He shut his book and grinned. “All right. You’re on. We’ll match each other plate for plate until one of us surrenders.”

“Sounds good.” Maryn picked up two platters and passed them to him. “Load these up, will you, and I’ll get us some mead.”

Vilkas piled each dish high with matching heaps of food—venison, baked potatoes, cheese, bread, and a generous slice of apple pie on the side. It was an amount he was confident he could handle, but more than he imagined Maryn could possibly eat in one sitting.

She didn’t blink when he set the heaping plate down in front of her, though. “Looks good!”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He took a seat beside her and cracked open his bottle of mead. “May the hungriest between us win!”

“I’ll drink to that.” She took a swig from her own bottle before picking up a hunk of bread.

Vilkas was no fool. He knew the dangers of getting competitive with new blood. If you let them think they could intimidate you, it was hard to keep their respect. But he didn’t feel he had anything to fear. If he played this right, he could win not only Maryn’s respect, but her admiration.

So he bent his head and scarfed down his food as though he were starving. The entire plate was demolished in minutes. When he had swallowed the last bite, he sat up straight, burped spectacularly, and glanced over to see—

—Maryn, sitting in front of an empty platter and delicately wiping pie crumbs from her lips.

“Surprised?” she asked, with a slight smirk.

“Impressed, yes,” he admitted. “But can you manage another plateful?”

“Oh, I think so.” She snatched his dish away from him and stood. “Let me fetch the food this time. You just sit there and let your belly settle. You’ll need its full cooperation, I assure you.”

He snorted, but let her go. His stomach did feel a bit… well, sloshy. Eating so fast had not been wise. _But she matched your speed,_ he reminded himself. _If you’re feeling the effects, she must be too. You’ll get her on the next one._

Maryn returned with fresh plates, and they dug in again.

It was harder this time. Vilkas ate more slowly, giving his stomach time to stretch around each new bite. Still, it was hard to ignore the reality that he was getting quite full. It didn’t help that each time he glanced up to see how his competition was fairng, she was attacking her meal with gusto. By the time he finished, she was chewing placidly on her last scrap of sweet roll.

“Round three?” she asked brightly.

He stifled a belch and nodded.

As she got up to load their plates again, he found himself staring incredulously at the sleek line of her belly. Where was all the food going? Was her clothing hiding the swell? It was only fur armor, soft and supple enough that it ought to stretch, but that was the only explanation he could think of. There was no way such a small body could hold so much food without bulging.

His own stomach had swollen enough that it was pressing uncomfortably against the inside of his armor. He was starting to feel rather sick. Two heaping plates on top of dinner…. He didn’t think he’d ever eaten so much. Not in the shape of a human, at least.

But it was too late to back out now. He was not going to be outdone by an elf.

The third plate was not enjoyable. Vilkas had to choke down every mouthful. Potatoes felt like glue on his tongue. Cheese tasted sickeningly rich. The horrible heavy feeling in his gut grew steadily worse. And still, every time he looked up, Maryn was chewing away without so much as a wince.

It could not go on, though. The once-laden tables were almost empty now. In an attempt to delay the moment when he would have to finish the crumbs of potato on his plate, he pointed this out: “Looks like we may have to call a tie. We’ve nearly gone through all the food in Jorrvaskr!”

“There's always more outside,” Maryn replied cheerfully, slurping down a piece of slaughterfish.

“Ah. Right.” His stomach trembled at the thought of holding more. He could feel it rumbling and bubbling against the inside of his armor, like an angry animal squeezed in a trap. “Um… I’ll leave refills to you again. I’d like to go downstairs and take off this blasted armor. It’s… much too hot and heavy for this kind of feasting.”

“As you like. I’ll be waiting.”

With great difficulty, Vilkas swallowed the last of his potatoes, and with nearly as much difficulty, got to his feet. His stomach sloshed like an overfilled waterskin. He headed for the stairway, trying his hardest to not to let his gait betray his discomfort.

Downstairs, he staggered to his room and began removing his armor as quickly as he could. The moment when his swollen stomach surged out of its prison was like a draft of Kynareth’s purest air. He stood there for a moment, dazed with relief, pressing his hands against curve of his belly as it rose and fell with his breath.

He felt quite a bit better now that the pressure had been eased—still sore, but less sick. He could almost believe that downing another plate of food wouldn’t be torture. By the Divines, but his belly was huge! It stuck out of him like a ball, so bizarrely distended that he almost couldn’t believe it was part of his body.

He patted it and told it to prepare for a fight before putting on his loosest tunic and returning to the battlefield.

Maryn was waiting with two newly-assembled plates. She burst into laughter at the sight of him. “Look at you! Don’t tell me you’re not full, I can see your belly bulging from here!”

Vilkas forced a smile. “Oh, I’m certainly full. But I can be fuller.” He patted his stomach. It gurgled loudly under his hand. He silently cursed its lack of discretion.

“I don’t know, you look like you might explode. Maybe we should call it quits.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. It was a casual gesture, but for the first time, he saw what looked like worry in her eyes. Ha! She knew she was nearly beaten and was trying to discourage him before it could happen.

“If I wanted to stand down, I’d tell you myself,” he said, easing into his chair. “Pass me more mead. Let’s finish this.”

Any relief that the change of clothes had brought him faded as soon as he started eating again. His stomach began to cramp. It couldn’t stretch further. He was bargaining with his body for space that wasn’t there. Still, he pressed on.

He was chewing slowly, negotiating with his insides to allow him to swallow, when Maryn’s voice cut through the fog of his single-mindedness. “You sure you aren’t getting too full?”

He forced the swallow, trying not to shudder as his belly groaned. “M’fine.” 

“Only you, uh, you don’t look so good. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone’s stomach make a noise like yours just—”

“Unless you’re forfeiting, you ought to save your breath.”

He would not give up. True Nords never backed down. Not even from stupid, juvenile challenges posed by smug little whelps….

“All right, all right, I need to stop this before you hurt yourself.” Maryn knocked a half-finished creme treat out of his hand. “It’s over. You won before we even began.”

Vilkas lifted his head, belched weakly, and said, “What?”

“I’ve been cheating this whole time. See?” She edged her chair backward. A decorative pot had been sitting just out of his sight, and she tipped it slightly to reveal that it was full of chunks of cheese, half-eaten salmon steaks, scraps of bread, pieces of potato, and so on. “I’ve only eaten perhaps a quarter of what I’ve pretended to.”

Vilkas stared at the pot. All he could think in that moment was that the amount of food it held was absolutely ridiculous, and that an equivalent amount was currently packed inside him. “How—how did you manage that?”

“I… used to be a member of the Thieves Guild in Riften. No longer—I decided to take control of my fate and leave the criminal life for good. But sleight of hand is what you might call a… a speciality of mine.” She saw the look on his face and said quickly, “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I thought it’d be a harmless prank. I thought you’d get full and give up and ask me what my secret was, and we’d both have a good laugh. I should’ve spoken up earlier, but I was worried you’d be angry….”

In fact, most of Vilkas’s anger was directed at himself. He’d made himself stupid on empty pride. Like a strutting rooster trying to impress a hen.

Still—he was a member of the Circle, and she was new, and she had done something she shouldn’t have. He arranged his face as best he could into the stern expression he’d seen Kodlak use countless times before.

“New blood,” he said severely, “we don’t partake in underhanded tricks here, no matter how harmless. Deception is not honorable.”

“I know.” Maryn lowered her eyes to the tabletop. “You have my sincere apologies.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by a whining gurgle from Vilkas’s belly.

He pressed a hand to it, swallowed a hiccup, and said, “You know, when I was a pup, I once tried to prank my brother by slipping some spider eggs into his sweet roll. Only the big lump didn’t even notice and ate the whole thing. As it turns out, spider eggs make your muscles weak and flimsy. The poor kid couldn’t get out of bed for days, and I had to polish all the armor in Jorrvaskr as punishment.”

Maryn smiled a small smile. “Is there a point to that story?”

“Yes. Try to have more sense than I did when I was seven.” He groaned and pushed his chair back from the table. “Come on. Help me up. I don’t think I can walk in this condition.”

Maryn took Vilkas’s arm and helped him limp downstairs. He was so bloated that even walking slowly was a struggle. By the time they reached his room, he was panting and groaning.

Maryn looked wretched. “I’m so sorry about this. You weren’t prepared….”

“Just help me onto the bed,” he said shortly. “I need to lie down.”

Getting off his feet didn’t help much. He could see his belly looming in front of him, a enormous round mound that heaved with his every breath. He wanted to sleep for a year, but his guts were too angry for rest.

Maryn sat on the edge of his mattress. “How do you feel?”

“Lousy. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“The amount you ate is unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She reached out and brushed a hand over the place where the taut flesh of his belly peeked out from under his tunic.

Her touch surprised him. He felt an unexpected jolt—as though a shock spell had hit him where her hand had made contact. Electricity continued to dance over his skin as her fingers stroked back and forth, applying gentle pressure to the heavy ache under his belly button.

“By Azura, it’s hard as a rock….” Maryn blinked, seeming to realize what she was doing, and quickly withdrew her hand. “Uh—forgive me.”

“No, no. That feels good. Don’t stop.”

“As you like.” Her fingers found his skin again. “May I… may I pull up your shirt? I can rub your whole belly that way. It’ll feel even better.”

“Do it,” sighed Vilkas, and he closed his eyes.

Her hands were like magic. They darted across the wide, tender expanse of his bloated abdomen, stroking here and patting there. She seemed to know exactly where to press, which areas would be tender, what direction to rub in order to soothe the aches and tease out the pockets of cramping and grumbling. His stomach burbled meekly as she worked. Every now and then, a small hiccup or a quiet burp would slip up and out of his throat, releasing a little bit of the pent-up pressure.

“Whatever you’re doing is incredible,” he murmured. “I feel much better already.”

“It’s just a matter of getting the air out,” she said. “Once that’s done, your stomach will settle, and it won’t be so painful. You’ll just feel heavy and tired.”

There was a strange edge to her voice. Vilkas opened his eyes and saw that she was not looking at his face, but at the swollen bulge of his stomach. Her red eyes glittered with the same kind of thing you saw in the eyes of sabre cats right before they pounced.

Hunger. Desire. Utter transfixion.

Vilkas felt, sudden as a backstab, a sort of stirring inside that had nothing to do with how much he’d eaten. He noticed how beautiful the shape of Maryn’s face was, limned by the yellow glow of the torches, and wondered how he’d missed that before. He didn’t usually go in for elves—he preferred strapping Nord women, big and tall and strong… but Maryn was different, wasn’t she? She was… magnetic. Something about her… well, that was why he’d wanted to impress her, wasnt it?

His mouth had gone dry. He closed his eyes and said, “You know, if you keep doing this until I fall asleep, I won’t tell a soul about your trick. It can be our secret.”

“You’ve got a deal,” said Maryn. Her hand pressed into the aching spot just below his ribs, and began to sweep wide circles over the dome of his belly, and he felt his mind slow and his heartbeat speed up.

Vilkas woke up the next morning after eight solid hours of deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more rested than he could ever remember having been in his life. When Aela asked him if anything exciting had happened while they’d been out, he felt almost unscrupulously dishonest by saying no.


End file.
